Gideon's Angel

Book Four of The Chosen series, tentatively titled, Gideon’s Angel.
by Tianna Xander
Unedited excerpt:

“So, you can see,” I said, my hands still raised high above my head, “there’s really no reason to kill me.”

Pausing, I peered through eerie silence at the man who still had the laser sight of his pistol trained on the base of my throat and sighed with relief. “It’s about stinkin’ time.” The words came out almost a snarl. How did a common thug like this one get a damned expensive pistol as that?

Dropping my arms, I rolled my aching shoulders forward and back to release the tension from my arms being held up over my head for so long. In the mood to be nasty, I had the incredible urge to kick the jerk in his crotch for preying on innocents the way he did. Instead, I stood glaring at him for a minute before I tossed the idea aside.

The guy’s eyes were glazed over as expected and, admittedly, this was the first time I had ever been proud of my dubious gift to talk someone into a mindless stupor. Still, it was better than killing the jerk. The twenty-seven dollars in my wallet wasn’t worth dying—or killing—over. The man had no idea who he’d been dealing with. If the darkness was a thief’s best friend then it was my lover. I could hide from the world in the daytime. At night I could practically disappear.

I scurried away from the idiot, grabbing his gun before I left. I didn’t need it but I didn’t want him descending on some unsuspecting mundane with it either. Since a mundane wouldn’t have any way to defend themselves like me, I figure it’s my duty to keep scum like this from preying on them if I can.

It was a good thing a cold front came down from Canada early this morning and I was wearing gloves.
I didn’t want my prints on the damned gun since it was about to make an unannounced appearance at the nearest police station. I moved quickly out of my mugger’s line of sight, unsure of how long his stupor would last and whether or not he had another gun hidden on his person. Buildings blurred by me as I ran through the dark streets looking for a cop.

Glancing back through the shadows I frowned. I didn’t want to hurt the jackass, even if he did prey on those weaker than himself. His first mistake tonight was targeting me. His second, was thinking I was weak.

I hadn’t accidentally killed anyone yet and I certainly didn’t want to start now. That’s not saying I’ve never taken a life. In fact, I take lives on a pretty regular basis. But then I’m a vampire hunter. Taking lives is kind of a prerequisite for the job. Not that I ever got paid for it…dammit. Besides, killing a vampire isn’t like killing a human is it? I mean…they’re dead already. Right?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a raving psychotic and I don’t run around killing vampires willy nilly. Nor do I dash about lopping off the heads of poor, unsuspecting blood drinkers who only do what they must to survive. I simply watch them, discover their habits and act accordingly. After all, if I skipped around town executing them all, regardless of their habits, I wouldn’t be any better than my vict…er…targets, now would I?

Jogging through the darkness, I found the nearest police station, concentrated on confusing people’s perceptions and dropped the gun on the front counter. It was the only option available to me. A locked door and three inches of bulletproof glass stood between me and the nearest officer’s desk. It would have to do.

Glad that I knew using my powers screwed with the operation of electrical equipment, I left the station secure in the knowledge that no one would know who had left it there. The gun still held the mugger’s prints. If the man had a record and had used the weapon to kill someone the police would hunt him down and get him off the streets. That’s how it worked in a perfect world, anyway.

After leaving the station, I decided to take it easy and catch my breath. Looking up at the sky, I spotted a few stars through the glare of streetlights and stopped to admire them. At least I think they were stars. I suppose they could have been satellites. What do I know about astronomy or is that astrology? I’m forever getting those two mixed up. Whatever. Taking my time, which was something unusual for me, I stood admiring the lights in the sky wishing I had the time to go to the country for a couple of days to admire them in the uninterrupted darkness.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

It felt like the hair on the back of my neck stood on end and began to wiggle at the cliché bad guy phrase. It was my usual reaction to the presence of a rogue. What was unusual was the absence of the urge to kill him. Pausing to assess the reason why I felt no necessity for violence, I looked at the man—and I use the term loosely—who accosted me and shook my head with disgust.

“I swear, some people watch way too much TV,” I said, glaring at another would-be assailant and clapped my hands with mock glee. “Oh, goodie!” My voice was high pitched and dripped with sarcasm as I stared at the freckled, redheaded vampire flashing his elongated, blinding white canines at me. “It’s Howdie Doodie time!” Then I leaned forward and squinted a bit. “Or are you little Opie, all grown up?”

There’s no real secret in how to tell a good vampire from a bad one. It’s easy if you’re like me and can’t be controlled. The good ones, meaning those who feed to live, not the other way around, will take control of your mind. When they do that, most people don’t even know they’ve met a vampire much less invited them to dinner.

A bad vampire, read evil incarnate, will not take over a victim’s mind. They want their victims scared. They just love adrenaline-laced blood. In fact they’re addicted to it. It’s like an amphetamine to them. Apparently, my new friend here was one of the latter.

“Come to me, my sweet.”

Giggling, I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms then backed up a pace, just because I could. “Don’t you find it hard to strike terror in the hearts of mortals when you look like a cartoon character and sound like a really bad B-movie vampire?”

Tilting my head, I gave him another assessing look. “You’re not very old, are you?” It wasn’t hard to tell. The real old vampires had a strange, formal speech pattern and looked like they were in their mid thirties. “How old are you, nineteen? Twenty maybe?”

It just wasn’t like a vampire this young to go rogue. They usually turned out of boredom or some sort of mental instability brought on by living centuries alone. Well, not alone so much as without love.
The boy looked down at himself as though expecting a part of his anatomy to jump up and admit to tattling about his age. He glared at me through narrowed eyes. “How could you tell?”

I ignored the sound of a few cars passing behind me, knowing I had nothing to fear from this particular vampire. There may be a few ancients out there who had a chance of killing me but it wouldn’t be this one and it also wouldn’t be today.

“Because,” I replied, leaning closer to get a better look. “The other rogues I’ve met have this…I don’t know…old world air about them. You don’t.” I didn’t add that they all looked at least thirty. This kid looked like just that. A kid. But, to be fair, most people under thirty do look like kids to me now that I’ve passed the big four-oh.

“Others?” He latched onto that one word, his eyes round. “You’ve met others?”

Suddenly, the hungry look was washed from his face, replaced with a strange kind of longing. “Do you know where they are?” He looked hopeful. “Do you think they would help me?”

“Help you? What—”

If I live to be one-hundred, I don’t think I could be more shocked than when he fell to his knees in front of me. “Take me to them. Please!”

“Well, hell.”